


Sugar pie, honey pun-ch

by sweariwouldnt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: If that squicks you, M/M, No Plot, kids and cats and cranberries, non-au, or well they did make me chuckle, shameless fluff, so many bad baking puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:56:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweariwouldnt/pseuds/sweariwouldnt
Summary: Harry is baking and Louis is not helping.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to witnessing this plotless blob of culinary cute! I hope this brings a bit of nice, light fun to your day x

Louis rubs his cold hands together, trying to warm them up as he closes the sliding door behind him. The weather is getting chillier; maybe he should try and find those slightly silly, albeit very useful fingerless gloves Harry had gotten him a while ago. ‘ _I can deal with you stinking and coughing,_ ’ Harry had said patronisingly whilst taking Louis’ cigarette from between his fingers to have a drag himself, ‘ _but cold fingers is where I draw the line,_ ’ he’d finished and blown the smoke on Louis face.

Harry’s got two glittery, one red and one yellow, butterfly hair clips, plotted on his hair and barely hanging on, Louis notices when he walks into his mum’s warm kitchen – no doubt the artistic hair dressing skills courtesy of Doris. Harry’s hovering over one of the wider counters, his back to Louis, humming something softly.

“What’s cooking, good looking?” Louis pokes Harry’s side and pecks his shoulder.

“’M baking.”

“Well whatcha making, queen of baking?” Louis flicks the yellow butterfly clip and hops on the counter.

“Cranberry cookies.”

Louis cringes. “Eugh Haz, that’s too healthy of a cookie.”

Harry gives him a serious side glance which probably would make most people say sorry and withdraw, but well, Louis isn’t most people.

“I could help and make it better?” Louis suggests while dipping his pinky into the batter.

Harry sighs dramatically. “You’ve never improved anything in the kitchen, Lou. You’re a hazard.”

“A haz-ard? Is that what you call your fans these days? A bit lame, Harold, don’t you think?” Louis licks his pinky clean and dips it back for more. It’s not totally horrible, really.

“Ha, ha. Funny.” Harry slaps Louis’ hand away from the bowl. “I know where your fingers have been. Keep them to yourself, otherwise I can’t offer these to your family.”

Louis withdraws his hand, defeated, and picks up a bag of dried cranberries, examining it. “So just these things, then?”

Harry grins deviously, suggestively. “There might be a secret ingredient.”

“You’re disgusting, Harry Styles.”

Harry just shrugs. Emphasising how disgusting both his boyfriend and cranberries are, Louis makes a few gagging noises for emphasis.

“Stop that,” Harry swats his thigh. “It’s annoying.”

“Not what you said last night.”

Harry barks a laugh despite himself. “Could you maybe go bother someone who didn’t actually get to choose you in their life?”

“You do understand you’ve just basically offended only yourself, right?”

“I feel like I deserve it,” Harry looks at him and pouts sadly. He’s ridiculous, really. But he does have that baking thing going for him, and Louis is rather a fan of cookie batter, even in its questionable healthiness.

“I’ll just sit here and play nice,” Louis offers. Harry doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll even let you tell me about the time you were a baker. Harry, didn’t you used to be a baker?”

“I’m going to spit on your cookies.”

“Not an unusual occurrence, you spitting on me things. So, you used to be a baker?” Louis tries to kick Harry’s leg but reconsiders and brushes it with his foot gently, instead.

“I was,” Harry beams. Louis is pretty sure he’s got a baking fetish. He’s got the buns for it, at least.

“Working in a bakery does not a baker make,” Louis puts on his best Yoda impression and then looks at Harry a bit worryingly. “You do know that, love, right?”

Harry straightens his back. “Excuse me, Lewis, I used to be an actual baker. I baked stuff. I put together stuff that makes bakery products and I was most definitely a baker.” He considers. “I actually did want to open my own bakery at one point, before the X-Factor.”

Louis’ eyebrows rise slightly. “You’ve never told me that.”

“It was just, not that serious. Just something I thought I might like.” Harry sounds a little bit wistful, only a little.

Louis extends his hand and brushes a curl behind Harry’s ear. “I’m sure you’d have the best bakery, love,” he says softly.

Harry leans to the touch and chuckles. “I guess I was mostly excited about coming up with a name, to be honest.”

Louis squeezes Harry’s earlobe lightly. “Why, got puns, hun?”

Harry can’t help but look like he’s a person full of bad jokes and puns and someone just gave him the permission to let them all out. “You sure you want to hear, Lou?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m running out of things to mock you about after all these years, I need new material.”

Harry pretends to be offended. “Tart.”

“Fap jack.”

“Uhm, you great British jerk off.”

Louis jaw drops, unimpressed. “ _Jerk_ off?”

“Yeah,” Harry looks at him challengingly. “Jerk off.”

“A bit American, isn’t it? Turning into a yankee with all that time in LA, are we, Harold?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me. Come on, I’m sure you’ve got more, better ones. It’ll come together.”

“Could we come together as well, later?”

Louis laughs and boops Harry’s nose. “Sure. Sorry I called you lame names. Now tell me about the bakery.”

Harry grabs Louis’ hand and kisses the inner palm. “Well, my favourite was probably ‘The Prettiest Flour’”.

“How very you,” Louis can’t help sounding smitten. 

Harry blushes. “Thanks, babe. I also was rather fond of ‘Sugar high, honey munch’ but Gems said it sounds unappealing to parents and also a bit porno.”

“I think we should definitely do something with that name, it’s bloody amazing, especially for the latter reason,” Louis laughs.

Harry winks, or tries to. Louis can’t comprehend how someone who winks so much still is so bad at it. “There was also ‘Spice curls’”.

“That sounds more like a curry place.”

“I guess,” Harry sighs and contemplates for a moment, before continuing. “Back then, it did sort of make me think about the name Saffron.”

“What about it?”

Harry’s eyes meet Louis’ briefly. “That it’d be a nice name for a girl.”

It takes a few seconds for this to sink in. “As in, you mean, what? Our daughter?”

Harry bits his lip. “Yeh?”

“Babe, I’m not naming our kids after a spice.”

“Just a suggestion,” Harry mumbles and turns away. They’ve talked about baby names before, quite extensively actually, and had agreed on a few favourites that throughout the years had just become more and more ‘them’. Their kids’ names are pretty much set in stone.

“Imagine we had a Saffron and then we’d get another one and call her Ginger!” Louis’ hands are making vague circles around his head. “You’d honestly want to be reminded of Oli every time you look at our kid?”

“I didn’t say anything about Ginger, Lou, shit, just forget I said anything.” Harry turns away and adds a cup of his secret ingredient to the bowl.

“And then our daughters would be referred to as The Spice Curls,” Louis carries on, lost in this ridiculous imagine.

Harry turns around and covers Louis’ mouth with his hand. “Shut up,” he breaks into a grin, “or you’re going to the naughty step.”

Louis eyes sparkle. “Would I also get bun-ished?” He licks Harry’s palm.

“Yes,” Harry deadpans and widens his eyes. “I’ll make your cookies extra healthy.”

“You wouldn’t,” Louis gasps, feigning disgust. Or maybe it’s not even feigning but actual fear. “You wouldn’t.”

“Hmm hmm,” Harry puckers his lips. “I’ll add raisins.”

“Walking on thin icing, Styles.”

“Come on! I’m still making you and your family cookies.”

“Yeah, for selfish reasons! You just want someone to bake to.” Louis raises his voice, goes quiet, then continues. “Is this a convenience thing, then? You’re only using me to project your inner baker and have someone to feed.”

Harry tries to suppress a laugh, but his twinkling eyes give him away. “Yeah, that’s what it is. Also it’d be too much bloody work to separate the finances.”

“And the houses.”

“And redo the wedding invitation designs. Names can easily be erased and replaced, I assure you.”

Their intense staring contest comes to a halt when Harry picks up a few cranberries left in the bag and throws them at Louis, who counterattacks with a nice handful of flour.

“Children!” comes a sharp shout by the door, stopping Harry and Louis on their feet and look up with guilty expressions.

“Impossible, the two of you”, Daisy shakes her head.

“Can’t leave you alone for a second,” Phoebe adds, crossing her hands. 

To Louis, seeing his little sisters, grand 12 years in age, act all adult-like these days is amusing. To Harry, however - being the easily guilt-tripped gentleman who still wants to impress everyone despite knowing they love him unconditionally - the twins seem to suddenly be an authority. “Sorry girls,” he mumbles, picking up the thrown cranberries from the floor and putting them in the bin.

Phoebe keeps glancing between Harry and Louis. “You know, we sometimes have this thing where we think ‘What would Harry do’,” she starts slowly.

Harry’s eyes light up; even more than a baker, he is aspired to be a great role model.

“…And then do the complete opposite!” Daisy finishes the sentence, laughs at Harry’s dropped smile and walks over to hug Harry and then Louis, with Phoebe on tow.

Harry’s mood, immediately improved, offers the wooden spoons he’d use on the batter, to the twins. “You’re just being nice for the batter.”

“And the banter,” Daisy nods while licking her spoon. “The show’s about to start, are you two quite finished?”

“Quite,” Louis takes the cookie tray and puts it into the oven. “Come on, flour,” he nudges Harry, waits for him to put the apron away and follow him out of the kitchen.

“We could get a ginger cat and call it Saffron,” Louis whispers, “just please don’t erase my name from the invitations.”

Harry squeezes his bum and in Louis’ mind, that’s a promise.

Later, when most of the family is dosing off on the comfy sofas in the living room, one of the puppies snoring softly, and most candles burnt out, Louis has time to do cookie judging whilst absentmindedly playing with Harry’s hair – Harry, who’s blobbed half on his lap, weirdly small for a person so evidently not small. Based on the absolutely delicious taste, Louis comes to the conclusion that the secret ingredient was white chocolate. And maybe a little bit of love, he thinks as an afterthought, nibbling his heart-shaped cookie.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!   
> (Welcoming your fave cookie recipes in the comment box. No raisins, please.)


End file.
